Chapter 19
Ellie
Alot can happen in a year.
But sometimes what you notice most are the things that didn’t happen.
Today’s my seventeenth birthday, which for some reason, I feel like no one talks about. Everyone raves about Sweet Sixteen, and then you become an “adult” at eighteen. The only thing I can come up with when I think about turning seventeen is Dancing Queen by Abba.
Young and sweet, only seventeen.
I don’t know what it is about junior year that has rocked me so hard, but young and sweet are not words that would make my “describe yourself in three words” list.
I don’t know if they’d make a “describe yourself in one hundred words” list.
I don’t quite have the words for it, but some days it’s hard to even get out of bed and brush my teeth.
It’s usually only bad like that for a few days–then I feel a hollow kind of sadness for the few days after that, and then I feel mostly normal again.
In those moments, I don’t have the energy or the care to be sweet, it’s all I can do to manage basic responses.
And it makes me feel a deep exhaustion in a way that seems wrong for a seventeen year old.
But like I said, a lot can happen in a year. I got my license, and then a car. I passed my first AP test (and failed my second one, but we don’t need to talk about that). I got a boyfriend, who I’m pretty sure is throwing me a surprise party tonight.
My worst nightmare–but we’ve only been dating a few months, I can’t expect him to know everything about me yet.
Lots of things also stayed the same. I still have my Friday dinners with Abby every week, I hang out with Jack on Saturday mornings, I garden with my grandmother, I go to the farmer’s market with my mom.
Sixteen has been good to me. Mostly. It had country drives, scream-singing with the windows rolled down. It came with braces (and with getting them off, thank goodness). It had my first date, and my first kiss.
It started with my favorite flowers from the people who were once my favorite.
But if I’m being honest, what I noticed most was probably the hole where those favorites used to be.
It’s been over a year now, and I really should be over it, but there’s no use pretending that when I got my schedule on the first day of school I wasn’t a little disappointed that I didn’t end up in any classes with Griffin.
I guess he decided to stop after Spanish II, and I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked into Spanish III, but it never crossed my mind that he might not be there.
Not that it makes a difference to me, obviously. We aren’t friends. We haven’t even spoken since they threw me a surprise party in class last year.
That realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
That surprise party didn’t bother me. I actually kind of loved it.
I shove that thought down, forcing my attention back to the last few minutes of Spanish III. The dismissal bell rings, and on autopilot, I pack up my things, head for the door, and take myself home.
I absolutely do not scan the parking lot for a glimpse of three obnoxious but endearing boys.
And when I get ready for my birthday “dinner” with Bennett, I certainly don’t consider that my reaction to a surprise party would have anything to do with who planned it.
***
Griffin
November, Age 17
Whoever said time heals all wounds was lying out of their ass.
Maybe I’m delusional, but I really thought that after her birthday surprise that me and Eleanor would rebuild…whatever it was that we had. Or almost had.
Think again, idiot.
Any attempts I made the rest of last year went unnoticed–or blatantly ignored. I really started losing hope when I didn’t see or hear from her once over summer break.
And now that we’re a few months into junior year, I think I have to force myself to admit that she really meant it when she said she’d never forgive me.
You’d think that would help me move on. Not a chance in hell.
I don’t talk to the guys about it anymore, because I don’t want to be a pathetic broken record.
Even though that’s exactly what I am.
I was so distracted last year that I almost failed Spanish II, so Senor Flores strongly advised me not to take Spanish III. I thought about doing it anyway on the off chance we might be in the same class again, but my GPA has been through enough already.
Now the only hope I have of seeing her is in the halls, and the scheduling Gods must hate me because we never cross paths unless something weird happens with the daily schedule. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve only seen her physically maybe twice in eight weeks.
Both times nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.
Not that I haven’t checked her Instagram religiously. I don’t care if that walks a thin line between regular old pathetic and stalkerish. I’ll take any crumb of her I can get.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but she’s gotten even more beautiful. Her blonde waves are nearly to her waist, her smile somehow got more radiant when she got her braces off, and Goddamn she’s got some curves on her.
I know I’ve changed too. When Jack and David started getting really sick of my pining, I took up working out as a way to release my angst. The rest of me has finally caught up with my height, and I get a lot more attention from girls now.
Not that I care. There’s only one girl’s attention I want. And I’m starting to think I’ll never have it again.
I know today is her birthday, and I desperately wanted to do something special for her. When she first told me how much she loves her birthday, I was looking forward to celebrating it with her forever.
I didn’t even get to do it once.
Before I could come up with anything, Jack and David talked me out of it. And they were right–there’s no way I could have done that in a way that seems natural. I don’t want to do anything that might tarnish her day.
I think Eleanor’s birthday is going to be the worst day of the year, every year, for the rest of my life.